


Quantity And Not So Much Quality

by Vatukka



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Character Death, Crack, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Human, M/M, Multi, Pre-War, Romance, Smut, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1268713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vatukka/pseuds/Vatukka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come and read 50 little stories that focus on the crazy life and relationship of Ratchet, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parts 1-10

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of writing 50 different stories that vary from 200 up to 600 words is I've wanted to do for a long time now. Some fics can be read as sequels to each other. Some of them even happen straight after certain episodes from Transformers: G1 and so on
> 
> Thank you to FuziPenguin for being the awesome beta they are.

_::Bond talk::_  
 _:- Com. link -:_  
 _Thinking_  
"Talking"

* * *

 

**#1 Ring**

During the Golden Age, there had existed a tradition for bonded couples to carry engraved rings of gold on their audio horns, chevrons, or even on their wingtips. But then came the war and such sentiments were lost among many other the traditions that no longer had a place in the aggressive conflicts which consumed Cybertron.

The last time Ratchet had seen the old symbols of love had been right before he became the CMO of the Autobot Armed Forces.

He had been searching for survivors from a bombed building. Instead, he had found a fragile, old femme and her equally ancient bonded; both had been adorned with two pairs of glittering metal rings - one for each bent finial. The dulled yellow that had gleamed in the glow of Ratchet's headlights had been the only color left on their grayed frames.

So when the Ark's crew woke up from their four millennia long stasis, Ratchet felt the irony as the Autobots discovered the dominating species of this backwater system, millions and millions of light years away from Cybertron, had come up with an almost identical custom.

* * *

 

**#2 Hero**

They were not heroes.

They were warriors; front-liners, killers and maybe even murderers. Never would they ever be called heroes. Titles like that were for 'bots like Optimus Prime, and maybe even for loyal soldiers such as Bumblebee and Hound. Not for a pair of unstable melee fighters, who had issues with the commanding officers.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both knew that, had always known that.

But then they met the ruler of the Iacon Medical Bay, a cantankerous, stubborn, and frighteningly wily 'bot, who was rumored to have the brass bearings to stand pede-to-pede with some of the most dangerous Decepticons to ensure the safety of his patients. They stared with wide optics at the chaos of wounded and dying soldiers surrounding the mech, who marshaled his domain with such authority it made the rest of the commanding chain look like newbies; the CMO, who ordered the Prime to 'park his enormous metal carcass on the berth before he was going to weld it on it'.

It was the moment the twins realized not all heroes were known from their nobility or loyalty.

* * *

**#3 Memory**

Cybertronian memory cores were both a gift and a curse to their kind. Nothing short of a complete memory wipe could make them forget what they had once seen. Building multiple fire walls helped but even those could be torn down.

That's why the haunting clip of Sunny falling to his knees with a howl of pain at finding their lover's grey was going to remain seared forever into Sideswipe's processor. No matter how many times Sideswipe would try to delete the memory file, it would always come back.

Always replaying and replaying and replaying…

* * *

**#4 Box**

When it first started, Ratchet attributed it as a sign of good will from one of the crew members. Still, it was a pity that the medic didn't know who to thank for the small etch-work of his old Med. bay back in Iacon that had been left on his desk.

Or that new set of surgical knives, just perfect for cutting open clogged lines.

Or that datapad full of several novels from his favorite author before the war.

The list went on, until Ratchet had had enough. He had sat down with Wheeljack, drinking high-grade - also a gift - and started to grumble about 'mystery gifts' and 'unknown senders', when the engineer had begun to chuckle.

"I fail to see what's so funny about this," Ratchet muttered, unimpressed as he glared at his friend.

Wheeljack leant against the table with his elbow and not for the first time he was glad for the blast mask, since it hid the wide grin he was sporting underneath it. "Oh nothing, just thinking outside the box," Wheeljack told Ratchet, snickering at the glower the medic gave him.

Two days and yet another gift later - a quality wax - Ratchet finally remembered Wheeljack's words and, well, thought outside the box.

Two hours later Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were nowhere to be seen and the twins stayed like that for the rest of the day.

* * *

**#5 Run**

Being the lover of a warrior-frame had its pros and cons.

They were programmed to be aggressive, more volatile than others. It wasn't that unusual for a warrior-frame to change their mood in a split of a nanosec, to turn form a laughing comrade into an energon-thirsty berserker, if the protocols were stimulated correctly. Their chassis' were stronger and thicker with fewer sensors; some of their plating was completely numb so that injuries apart from losing a helm and maybe a limb would not slow them down during a battle. They required more fuel to keep those highly tuned engines and built-in weapons running, burning it a lot faster than the other frame types.

What made them rev also differed from the rest. Some enjoyed physical sparring right before the interface, some liked to dominate their partners and some wanted to _be_ dominated.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, built for both strength and speed, liked to _chase_.

Their alt. modes - both Cybertroanian and Earth-made - were sleek, fast and extremely masculine. As split-spark twins the chasing was even more exhilarating, easily doubling the sensations of need and _rush_. Once Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's wanted something, those two powerful engines roaring into life, there was no way to escape.

Ratchet could only pray to Primus that this time the twins would give him _at least_ a two breem head start.

* * *

**#6 Hurricane**

The relationship between three very dominant personalities was a bit of a challenge for those involved as well and everybot around the twins and the medic. It became sort of a norm for the Autobots to witness loud arguments, objects being thrown around and icy silences that were extremely awkward for anybot that had the bad luck to be stuck between the three mechs.

But there were moments of calmness between these storms, where gentle touches were exchanged and softly murmured words of love and devotion were shared. During those moments they were like any normal couple - or trine -, smiling to each other as they sat in the rec. room or going for a drive during their rare times of shared off-duty.

Yes, the relationship between two proud front liners and a weathered medic was far from stable; but more like a force of nature with no way to escape. The only thing they could do was to enjoy the every single moment of the ride.

* * *

**#7 Wings**

Ratchet stomped through the halls of the Iacon base, glaring at the openly staring Autobots, some of them getting a glitch in their jaw-components. Fine by him, Ratchet thought darkly. He had a fresh batch of trainees that needed some practice in screwing jaws back together.

The commanding officers hadn't been any better. Optimus had blinked before clearing his vocalizer with a static-y cough, trying to look everywhere else than the CMO's back. Ironhide, the slagger, had smirked lewdly and commented 'likin' the upgrade, why not make it permanent?'. Ratchet had silenced the red afthelm with a wrench. Even Prowl had been affected, the stoic SIC's lower jaw hanging loose, while Jazz had just about laughed himself into stasis. The saboteur had managed to dodge the wrench aimed at him, though, the little glitch faster than Ironhide.

The medic came to a halt as yet another strong electric current passed across his sensory net. Since the information feed was now approximately 4.5 times greater than normally, Ratchet was alerted of the presence of two particular glitches long before they even entered his visual feed. Pit, now he knew first servo why mechs like Prowl and Bluestreak were near impossible to sneak up on.

Biting back a curse, Ratchet quickly used the CMO's override codes in order to search for the closest empty room. Despite his frown, the white and red doorwings now gracing Ratchet's back struts fluttered in a wordless invitation as the pair approached him fast. Luckily, the door next to him slid open to reveal a vacant meeting room.

The two mechs hastened their steps, following the medic eagerly inside. Ratchet knew it was futile to run, especially when the strong frames surrounded him.

"Ratchet," Sunstreaker's deep voice purred right into the white audio as a servo ghosted over the left doorwing. The stimulation of multiple sensors sent waves of pleasure to Ratchet's processor and interface systems as the right doorwing was busy registering the deep rumble from Sideswipe's engine.

Later, Ratchet couldn't find in himself to complain about the doorwings. Not when the twins had made it their personal mission to make their lover overload as many times as possible with only teasing touches to the sensitive panels. Perhaps he should reconsider his decision of making this addition only temporary.

* * *

**#8 Cold**

The agonized cry that tore itself out of Sunstreaker's vocalizer was not something the Autobots were used to hearing from the proud front-liner. And that haunted wail kept rising higher and higher, freezing the very energon in their lines.

Most of the wounded 'bots and the medical team trying to patch them now stood rooted on their pedes, unable to tear their gazes away from the yellow warrior. The sight of Sunstreaker breaking apart right in front of their optics gained their undivided attention. The handsome faceplates were twisted in a mix of denial and grief; one of the optics had been crushed by a Decepticon but the other held such anguish that it was almost unbearable to witness.

They had seen Sunstreaker enraged, had witnessed him and his brother tear Decepticons' apart with sinister glee and they all knew just how vain the front-liner was.

Yet, there he was, the normally pristine and clean armor riddled with scorch marks and dents, the blemished plating shaking violently in the yellow twin's distress. The metallic rattle only made the scene even more spark-breaking as the crying Sunstreaker clung to the empty shell of a mech that had been a key part of Sunstreaker's existence, someone his and Sideswipe's most basic coding had latched onto.

And Sunstreaker just. Kept. _Screaming_.

* * *

**#9 Red**

Before the war, before the color of one's optics became as important as the faction symbol, blue had been a minority. A color viewed as plain and simple next to options like green, violet, yellow, red, orange and white. Prowl had had yellow optics, Jazz's visor had once been pale violet and even fewer were aware that Megatron had onlined with Matrix-blue optics.

Ratchet had carried red optics, the exact same hue the Decepticons had chosen as their symbol. There weren't many Autobots, who knew that, and those who did had secrets of their own.

When the war erupted, the change of optical lenses had been one upgrade among the other numerous others Ratchet had undergone to stay alive.

He had thought he had gotten used to them.

But then they watched the security tapes of the crew under the effects of Megatron's personality destabilizer device. The images of the white CMO with glowing crimson optics made Ratchet halt, his spark swelling with emotion. He felt nostalgic, _proud_ , even as he watched himself cause destruction, the red gaze far more befitting to his colors than the simple blue even after so many millions of vorns.

Unfortunately, this thought was not shared among the rest of the crew. The disgusted expressions, muttered curses, and openly shouted disdains for sharing the Decepticons' optic color even for such a short time started not long after the tape started. There were a few Autobots, who had stayed silent, though. Shifting hesitantly on their pedes, their identical blue optics powered down to hide the pain as the mocking continued.

And Ratchet was one of them, mourning that something that had made him, _him_ was now and would forever be branded as nothing but a sign of evil.

* * *

**#10 Drink**

"Well, hello there, sweetspark. Haven't seen you here before."

The deep purr drew his attention to the tall mech, who sidled to stand next to him, leaning carelessly against the counter.

Turning his helm a fraction to examine the newcomer, the half-lidded optics took a sweeping look of the stranger from helm to pedes. The mech in question flared his red armor just right for the bar's lights to catch the glossy plates. It was impossible not to miss the strong lines of the well maintained frame, or the upward tilt of a lip plate that gave the handsome faceplates a roguish look.

The slagger knew how to pose, that was sure.

"Not interested," he said, almost laughing as the suave mask slipped away for a nanoklik, revealing that the other was not used to being dismissed.

"Oh, c'mon now, don't be like that," the red mech purred, clearly taking this as a challenge, "you don't know what you might miss."

"I doubt it."

The stranger leaned closer, exhales ghosting over one audio. "There's no harm finding out, right?" he murmured, leaning back to order two cubes of expensive high-grade. The glowing drinks were placed before them, the bartender breaking into a knowing grin, when he saw just who the hot shot was trying to flirt with.

The red mech offered one of the cubes with a flamboyant little bow. "The designation's Sideswipe, sweetpark. And you are…?"

The sly grin that was flashed in Sideswipe's direction earned a rather nice rumble from the red mech, the sound lost under the booming music of the bar. The vibrations didn't go unnoticed, though, and the dimmed optics brightened in a challenging manner. Sideswipe watched as the mech took the offered cube, raising it to the grey lip plates.

What happened next, though, surprised Sideswipe but not the bartender, who wasn't even trying to hide his amusement.

The cube was tipped and the potent high-grade was drowned in one smooth swallow. The mech calmly placed the empty container on the counter, turning towards the now open-mouthed Sideswipe. The mischievous smile widened into a feral grin.

"Think you can keep up with me, _sweetspark?_ " he taunted huskily, red finger components trailing over Sideswipe's servo, curling into the armor seams.

The red mech's engine stuttered in surprise, when a piece of circuitry was skillfully tweaked, the sudden pleasure chasing away the shock. With a smirk, he watched Sideswipe to hastily finish his own cube, ordering two more to the bartender's glee.

oO0Oo

 _::Wake the frag up!::_ Sunstreaker growled through their bond, pushing the red twin from his over-charged recharge into the processor ache of the century.

 _::Too early::_ Sideswipe whined as he burrowed into the berth.

_::Shut up! I wasn't the one who got himself drunk last cycle just to chase some aft::_

_::In my defense, it was a fine piece of aft, my dear Sunshine::_ Sideswipe moaned as he rolled on to his back struts, processors rebooting themselves. _::Next time, you are coming with me::_

There was a wordless growl from his brother's side of the bond, hate towards the pet designation. _::What makes you think he's going to be there again?::_ Sunstreaker asked.

Sideswipe's memory core offered the answer, a flash of smirking lip plates underneath a dark chevron, whispering the designation - _"Ratchet"_ \- to Sideswipe's audio horn, before those same lip plates proceeded to devour his.

 _::Call it a hunch::_


	2. #11-20

**#11 Midnight**

_Accessing time zones…_  
 _Local time zone: UTC +02.00._  
 _Local time: 23:56._  
 _Accessing time zones…_  
 _Recalibrate the chronometer back to previous settings. Y/N_

"I think my chronometer is glitching," Sunstreaker muttered, sullen optics glaring at the horizon.

"I can assure you that's not the case," drawled the amused voice of Ratchet. The big medic came to sit next to Sunstreaker, EM field reaching out to the glowering warrior. While Sunstreaker showed no outward change, his tightly wound field relaxed, edges mingling with Ratchet's.

"So this backwater system in the middle of nowhere has a _star_ that doesn't go down for joors for almost four lunar cycles every single stellar cycle?" Sunstreaker grumbled, the vents releasing air in a snort-like fashion.

Ratchet's engine only hummed as an answer.

For a moment, they both watched at the peculiar sight of the still bright, pale orange sky and the golden disk that was lazily hanging above the tree-covered fells, as if debating whether or not to take the last plunge.

And as they kept staring at the slightly illogical spectacle, both of their chronometers pinged, setting new dates and times.

But the sun stayed up, almost but not quite touching the horizon.

"You know…," Ratchet added almost absentmindedly, his face distant as the medic recalled memories of the past long gone. "They have this phenomenon called polar night, where the star doesn't rise at all for an equally long time."

Sunstreaker cleared his vents sharply and the front liner's faceplates twisted into a bitter smile. "At least there's some _justice_ in this Pit-forsaken universe."

* * *

**#12 Temptation**

Desire and lust were a natural part of Ratchet's emotional programming. He liked a good, processor-blowing interface as much as the next mech. Then the war began and suddenly his Medical bay was flooded with exceptionally appealing mechs; too bad it was not in a way he had been hoping for. (Ratchet was a professional but he was not blind; he could still appreciate a beautiful, strong frame even if he was saving the owner of the previously mentioned beautiful, strong frame from deactivation.)

He had principles, vague ones and no fragging with patients was one of them. Getting rid of the charge via self-service became a habit, one among many Ratchet developed during the war. And no 'bot was foolish enough to butt their nasal ridges in what happened behind the closed doors of _Ratchet's_ Medical bay. Despite being paranoid as Pit, the current SD had just a tad bit more self-preservation than Telescope had had. (The veterans enjoyed scaring the scrap out of the new recruits by telling stories of what _really_ had happened to Red Alert's predecessor.)

There were breems, when Ratchet just wanted to throw his servos up and curse Primus for dangling such treats right in front of him. It was like a test, to see just how long the CMO could take it before grabbing one of those unsuspecting mechs and fragging them hard. _Somehow_ Ratchet managed to resist, incidentally spreading his reputation as the master healer with bedside manners from Pit. (Wheeljack had once pointed out that the reason behind their CMO's grouchiness was very simple, his headfins flashing in a way many had afterwards vehemently claimed to having been _suggestive_.)

Then the two most gorgeous front-liners Ratchet had ever laid optics on landed in the Medical bay. They were arrogant and bold, making lewd comments to the stunned CMO, who in retaliation hit them with his wrenches. Once again, Ratchet found himself fighting yet another attraction but this time it was easier said than done. _They_ were insistent and stubborn, just like him. (As time passed and the twins still continued to flirt with Ratchet despite him shooting them down, the medic began to wonder, if, just this one time, he should give in.)

* * *

**#13 View **

A flare of bafflement wrapped in shock was the only warning he got, before his brother reached out to him.

 _::OhfragSunnyyougottoseethis::_ Sideswipe's excited babble rushed over their bond, the strong emotions Sideswipe was experiencing effectively gaining the yellow twin's attention.

::What? I'm on duty!:: Sunstreaker growled as he tried to at least focus on the monitors. He hated doing monitor duty as much as anyone - with the exception of Red Alert, who would probably bond with his precious security system if possible.

 _::ShutupDandelionandusethosecamerastocheckMedbay::_ Sideswipe's words meshed together, impatient and still shocked. It was like he was trying to break Blurr's record. _::JustdoitNOW!::_

Muttering something about 'Sideswipe finally blowing his processor', Sunstreaker ignored the look he received from the bored Tracks and changed the camera feed from Corridor SMH-2Z to Medical bay. The lights were dimmed and the berths were for once empty of any patients. Frowning, Sunstreaker was ready to comm. Sideswipe to demand an explanation, when his optics detected a movement in the far corner, at the very edge of the camera's range.

Scowling, Sunstreaker zoomed the camera in closer; the shapes of at least two mechs could be seen in the shadows. Staring at the screen, the yellow front-liner finally recognized a familiar red aft and a pair of black servos clinging desperately to red and white plates. The duo were frantically rocking back and forth, and then Sideswipe's side of the bond positively bombarded Sunstreaker with all sorts of sensations and --

The roar of a finely tuned engine and the following crash of glass were so unexpected that Tracks actually fell out of his chair with an undignified yelp. The blue mech twisted his helm just in time to see Sunstreaker bolt out of the room like the fires of the Pit were after him.

The monitor screen the volatile front liner had been watching was now nothing but a sparking mess.

* * *

**#14 Music**

There just was something captivating in the sound of a recharging system.

Compared to medical or forced stasis, there were more noises: an occasional whir of a gyros recalibrating, the purr of an engine. The cooling fans ran slower than when their owner was fully online, almost lazily as they kept the core temperature at optimal levels. And if you listened carefully, you could almost hear the coolant flowing in the lines closest to the plating.

Sideswipe smiled, moving his audio horn from the red-crossed shoulder to Ratchet's chest plates, right over the glass that made up the medic's alt. mode's wind screen. He dialed his audios up, carefully searching for a specific sound.

There, beneath the protective layers of armor and protoform, closed inside a case of crystal, originated a quiet sound. Compared to other sounds of Ratchet's frame, it could be described as a hum. There was no change in it, any higher peaks or fluctuations, just this constant, gentle drone.

It was the sound of their bondmate's very life force.

With a sigh, the red mech allowed himself to be lulled into recharge while listening to the most beautiful music Sideswipe's audios had ever recorded.

* * *

**#15 Silk**

This sensation was something he had never experienced before.

Actually, that wasn't quite the truth. Cybertronian sensors were extremely highly tuned - the medics sensors even more so - but even the finest sensor net didn't always catch what the organic sense of touch could. Yes, the sensory feedback was much duller and the lack of information Ratchet received was also almost naught compared to his normal but still... He just couldn't stop himself, captivated by this odd feel.

It also seemed that his actions were being appreciated, and if Ratchet had not known better, he could have sworn that the twins were about to start purring as they lied strutless on the grass, helms resting on Ratchet's lap.

'Boneless' and 'heads', corrected a part of the medic's mind. Then again was it even relevant to change his inner vocabulary. The whole situation had been so illogic that it had crashed Prowl's battle computer and the SIC had fallen into stasis within breems.

Or perhaps he should say 'fainted'; it _was_ the more appropriate term. Cybertronians had processor crashes, not humans.

Ratchet didn't care, mesmerized as he kept running his odd, soft fingers through the thick strands of blonde and red hair. His grey eyes travelled downwards, taking another look at the two naked frames (bodies), and Ratchet couldn't help but wonder if the hair covering the twins' lower regions was smooth as that atop their heads.

* * *

**#16 Cover**

"It's going to take forever to get these dents out." The oh-so-familiar words were grunted right into his companion's audio, but for once they lacked their usual acid.

Maybe it was because they could not afford to move a. _Single_. Gear. Or the Decepticons would find them, hidden underneath the broken frames of what had been their former platoon.

Whatever was the reason; for joors Sunstreaker continued to grouse about his ruined paint job. He even switched to internal communications when it became too dangerous to speak out loud. It didn't matter that the medic couldn't answer; it gave Ratchet something else concentrate on other than the sparking remains of his left shoulder and ruined vocalizer. Kept away the look of fear and desperation in the medic's faded optics.

Sunstreaker wasn't the hiding or the comforting type; but he was willing to do whatever he could to keep Ratchet out of the Decepticon clutches and from the arms of Primus' himself.

* * *

**#17 Promise**

"Be mine?"

He turns, silent, and the play is once again set in motion. They can't help but follow the same script all the way to the bitter end.

"I can't," he answers, the words quiet.

A silent whirr as flared up armor settles. "Why?" the question is sullen, even a little demanding.

"You know why," he sighs, feeling even more exhausted than he usually does. "Is it because of them? Because I know - "

A warning rumble cuts the mech off mid-speech, and the whine of activating battle-systems freeze the other even as a hostile EM field lashes out. "You know nothing."

The words are cold and the subvocals are acidic, but they can't hide the fear that ripples through his frame. The fear of the truth that is in those words.

"It's been centuries," the mech tries, stubborn. He is always trying, asking the same question, never once wavering despite the certain rejection.

Only the tone of those words change from dreamy to angry, from hopeful to devastated as the two of them keep repeating this macabre play of devotion and love gone wrong.

"It doesn't matter," he spats, spark heavy as fire leaves him, EM field collapsing and withdrawing.

The other mech twitches, likely fighting the urge to touch him; the steady thrum of stand-by battle systems keeps the other at bay.

Instead he looks sad, the edges of a pity-riddled EM field reaching out to touch his. Another growl and pitching of systems makes the dejected Praxian flinch.

"Sideswipe…" Bluestreak tries, pleading, but the red mech turns his back to him.

"I can't, and you know why," Sideswipe murmurs. The outburst has drained his energy and all he wants is to recharge. "I promised," he whispers, more t himself than to Bluestreak, who keeps staring at the hunched mech.

"But you promised to live…"

* * *

**#18 Dream**

_Strong servos danced across his plating, dexterous fingers twisting and pulling the sensitive wiring even as a hot, thrumming frame pushed him tight against the wall. A thrumming EM field surged, engulfing him into a cocoon of lust and mischief. He was helpless, limbs twitching as pleasure flooded his CPU, warnings of a quickly rising core temperature popping up. And Primus on a fragging pogo stick; the mech was just_ kissing _him!_

 _Uncoordinated, he clawed the strong chassis. It was against his_ programming _to be this passive. But all he could was hang onto the wide shoulders, a series of embarrassing whimpers and clicks the only sounds his static-laden vocalizer could make._

_Then there was a servo cupping his crotch plating, a thumb rolling over it lazily, and adding just the slightest amount of pressure against the scorching metal. He pretty much lost it, whimpering desperately as the coverings retracted to reveal his interface array. Cool air brushed against his valve before a thick digit traced the edge of the wet rim and then it bent, touching the pulsing calipers --_

Sunstreaker flung himself up, engine hot and revving. The loud whirr of fans filled the dark berthroom as his charged frame tried to cool itself off. His optics were unfocused, the visual sensors scrambling to recalibrate themselves after the unexpected end of defragmentation and forced to reboot.

So it was only normal that it took the yellow mech almost two breems to realize that he was not the only source of loud x-venting.

Glaring hotly down at the twitching Sideswipe, Sunstreaker's expression grew only more sour as his twin's EM field whirled uncontrollably, influenced by the same, albeit slightly warped memory flux that had awoken Sunstreaker.

Again.

Ever since Sideswipe had returned from that nightclub, the little glitch had been going on and on about the fragger that had managed to drink him under the table. Sunstreaker was surprised that even after so many solar cycles Sideswipe was still infatuated by this _Ratchet_ ; he kept returning to the nightclub, only to come back late in the dark cycle, gloomy and irritated. The increasing number of fantasies slipping through their twin bond had started to take over Sideswipe's - and thus also Sunstreaker's - recharge was also alarming.

 _Why would you spread your legs for him?_ Sunstreaker sneered silently at his still recharging twin, jealousy burning his lines with coldness of insecurity right behind its heels. A yellow servo rose, barely touching one black sensory horn. _What makes him so special, brother?_

Sideswipe didn't answer; instead his frame trembled as he reached his own peak. Keening lowly, the red frame tensed before relaxing again. Sunstreaker's vents stuttered as the ghostlike sensation of an overload passed over their bond. But instead of pleasure he felt only fear of a strange dream-mech that had suddenly invaded his - their - life.

* * *

**#19 Candle **

One of the things Ratchet didn't understand about this planet's dominant species was their fascination with candles and especially with candle light. He had heard Mikaela gush over how Sam had taken her out to a restaurant that had had candles and how it had been 'so romantic'.

A quick search through the internet had left the CMO with more questions than answers.

For a rather primitive object, the religious meanings and tales surrounding the candle were vast and often very imaginative. Since the information didn't really do any good for him, Ratchet casted it away, adding it to his memory cortex under the file that was aptly designated as 'Human behavior - odd'.

It was months later, when was Ratchet returning from the Lennox family's farm, that he remembered the candle and its meanings.

The road was dark and the surrounding forest even darker. It was late in the fall, and the air was full of moisture but Ratchet detected a mild change in the temperature. The big Autobot considered it and made a mental note to order an extra medical check-up for the whole team, when his optical sensors noticed something _glowing_ behind the rows of leafless trees.

Curious, Ratchet slowed down, calibrating his sensors for a long distance sweep. He became alarmed as he identified several sources of warmth, all of them immobile. Wondering, if he should contact Ironhide for backup, the CMO turned the curve on the road, and Ratchet's processor came to a halt.

Among the trees, hundreds of little balls of light floated just above the ground. They were placed unevenly, but as Ratchet turned his headlights off to inspect the scene more closely, the CMO started to make out certain patterns, following rows of shaped stones.

Ratchet felt his intakes hitch, a sharp hiss escaping his chassis as he realized he was seeing cemetery, filled with candles. His scans pinged, warning him of a human presence and the CMO witnessed yet another candle being lit and placed in front of a simple tombstone.

For a longest time, Ratchet just stayed there, parked on the roadside and watching the candles burn. His thoughts were filled with memories of friends, of loved ones. He remembered two lithe frames, almost identical in everything but coloration, the handsome faceplates of the two mechs he had once dared to call his own.

"I miss you,"Ratchet whispered into the night.

* * *

**#20 Talent**

"I'm not certain, if I find this adorable or alarming."

"It's perfectly normal for him to test his limits."

"Sure, why don't we just drop him in the armory and see if he knows how to use a blas - ow!"

"Quiet. I want to see how far he reaches this time."

The two mechs, one immensely proud and the other unnerved, focused back on the little figure on the move. The sparkling's plating was still gray; the only real color about him was the bright blue optics. The tiny pedes were a bit wobbly, but the sheer determination on the little one's faceplates was just adorable as he toddled away.

"You are incorrigible. Red Alert is going to pitch a fit of the deca-vorn once he finds out."

The laughter came before he could stop it. "I know, and you can't make me feel bad about it."

The unexpected sound made the sparkling halt, turning precariously around to watch the two mechs leaning against the wall. The blue optics brightened, and the little faceplates nearly split in two with a wide smile, when he recognized his creator. The sparkling almost abandoned his quest, already taking a step towards them, but the encouraging nudge through the creator-creation bond made the little one chirp, questioning.

"Primus, how something can be so cute", Ratchet murmured, locking his joints to stop himself from scooping the sparkling into his arms. Pushing more _love-safe-proud-proud-love_ through the bond, the medic was pleased as the little one resumed his mission.

Wheeljack, still weighing the pros and cons at pinging Red Alert and tell him to start planning for new security codes just in case, shook his helm. "Creator programming sure has mellowed you," he teased, helm-fins glowing in amusement.

The CMO paid no attention to the engineer, both he and the sparkling having grown still. Their bonds -- sparkbond and creator-creation bond -- sensed a surge of annoyance, mixed with worry. Ratchet caught the little one's emotions, a burst of _mischief-play-play_ and the sparkling began to totter away as fast as he could.

Ratchet chuckled as a frowning Sunstreaker appeared through the open door of their quarters. Even Wheeljack had to stifle his laughter, when the yellow twin glared at Ratchet.

"Useless excuse of a sire," Sunstreaker groused, stomping after the happily squealing sparkling.

Only Ratchet and the twins' progeny would learn how to escape from the crib at the tender age of just a vorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles #12 and #13 can be set in same universe, although it's up to the reader, and I'm sure you can guess what fic the #18 is a continuation? Thank you FuziPenguin for the betawork


End file.
